The Art Of Corruption ~ A BBC Sherlock Fanfiction {Book III}

Chapter 15- The Cost of Secrecy

Emily's POV

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I splash water at my face and straighten up, feeling very sorry for myself.

It's not often I'm sick.

I assume Sherlock, Millie and John left without me. I can't really blame them. I was hardly in a fit state to go trekking across Zermatt and confront a killer. Still, it would have been nice to get out of this house. Now that I'm no longer projectile vomiting, I'm beginning to get a bit stir crazy. Are they in danger? Have they met the killer yet? I sigh, listening to Irene's stilettos tap down the corridor outside. I suppose I should occupy myself.

I go back into my room, which is just starting to get light as the sun makes an unwilling appearance. I open my laptop, and look at the radio station I hacked moments ago. They still haven't made an attempt to fight back against my software. That's odd. I scroll lazily through some pages, browsing The Web forum without really looking. I've been very good, recently, in terms of my legal status. Aside from hijacking the radio station, which was for a case, I've barely hacked anything. I miss it, in a way. I need some form of danger in my life. Without it, everything becomes lack-lustre. Dull. I desperately wanted to join Sherlock and the others at the warehouse, because that would have been my first taste of danger since the events that occurred three weeks ago. Twenty one days of nothing. I'm getting to that point where I become reckless, although I'm trying very hard to contain it. It's a balancing act: I need stimulus, but at the same time, I need to show Millie, John and Sherlock that I'm in control.

It's just so boring.

I get up and open the sliding window, stepping out into the frosty morning and watching as my breath dissipates in small, semi-translucent clouds. I look out over the balcony, trying to spot the warehouse on the other side of the village. I can just about make out the dark wood over the sloping rooftops. I wonder if the confrontation has started yet?

"Where are the others?"

I jump at the sound of Irene's voice, spinning around and regretting it instantly. The landscape swirls and my vision slurs, so that I have to grip the wooden rail of the balcony to stop my knees from buckling underneath me.

And then, just like that, it stops.

Irene watches, carefully, red lips pressed together in a thin line, and I realise that she's still waiting for an answer.

"Hinterdorf warehouse. You just missed them," I say, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounds.

"What, without you?"

"I wasn't feeling up to it."

She narrows her eyes, scanning me up and down.

"Why are they going to a warehouse at this time? It's a bit early, even for our precious prodigy."

"They're meeting the killer. Well, that's the plan."

Irene's face freezes.

"What?"

"The killer-"

"No."

I regard her warily, confused by her sudden panic.

"What...?"

"I knew this would happen. I told him, but he didn't listen. He never does. Oh god, what do I do?"

She turns to me, and I see fear. Raw, genuine fear. Not for herself, but for Sherlock, John and Millie.

I see her expression and I start to feel sick again.